I used to have a Royal portable. THUMP THUMP THUMP CHING.
My current process is too damned nonlinear for typewriters, alas. I miss them.
I should get some words. If I knew what the words should be.
If I knew exactly what it was that Azrael was trying to extort out of Dust, I could try to get some words. But since I do not, I shall work on my page proofs for a while (page 91 or 272) and then I shall take a hot bath and then perhaps I shall go to the gym and see if the ski machine has anything to tell me.
As well. I got my three pages last night (I've been a day ahead) so if the not-Angels are going to sulk and be not-Helpful, it can happen. And anyway, there's always tonight.
The New Amsterdam proofs may be boring the heck out of me (do you have any idea how many times I have read "Wax" at this point?) but they are reminding me of something.
I love Jack Priest almost as much as Sebastien does. And if I get through "Wane," I can get back to a story with Jack in it.